Rules of the Game
by Nova Adams
Summary: If anyone can accurately tell me specifically which game the gods are playing, you will earn my everlasting respect.


This is the Earth. From some ways away it appears to be a blue star. From a little bit closer it is a small blue dot the size of a pinhead. From even closer, it is a huge orb, turning in the nonexistent cosmic wind. And from about five or six feet away from it (which is the normal viewpoint of most of the more evolved inhabitants of this planet), it is home. 

And this is also where the gods like to play games. 

The gods are very interested in the lives of humans. There are some people that claim that there is only one God that does everything. There are some that claim that this God killed off most of the other ones. There are some that claim that they never existed in the first place. There are even some, oddly enough, that claim that there aren't any gods, never have been, and never will be. Some don't really care. 

All of these people are perfectly correct. All (or almost all) of them have thought long and hard about their views, selected the ideas that made sense to them, and then went out into the world armed with their beliefs. 

Most of these people are dead wrong. Even the ones that don't care. _Especially_ the ones that don't care. 

The gods were just finishing up a rather spirited game of Clue. Loki, Moloch, Isis, and Thor were the four who liked playing games most. Loki loved to develop insanely complicated strategies, Moloch liked to bluff a lot and intimidate the other players, Thor tended to yell a lot and accuse others of cheating whenever he was losing, and Isis just liked to win. 

Loki grinned. "It's my turn, isn't it? I—or rather, my lawyer—accuses…let's see here, how about…Hmm. I know!" He grinned. "O.J. in the garden with the gun." 

"I was going to do that!" yelled Thor. "I was going to say that! You _bastard_!" 

Moloch frowned. "So what shall we do with this poor accused mortal? Send him into the fires of hell? Let him rot in a cell for years?" He gave an evil laugh. 

Isis pouted. "Let's set him free. I don't like killing people." 

Moloch sighed. "Do we have to? I _like_ torturing people." 

Loki shrugged. "Isis came in last, so she gets to choose the fate of the pawn." 

Thor looked at Isis. "Well, sweetheart?" 

Isis giggled. "How about the jury is so scared of being accused of being racist that they let him go free?" 

The three male gods looked at each other. "I don't like it," grumbled Moloch. 

Thor shrugged. "Well, I can't think of anything better." 

"You just can't think, period," mumbled Loki. 

Thor turned in Loki's position. Because of his muscles, and the fact that he had to reposition his hammer so that it didn't knock his winged headband off, this took some time. "What did you say?" 

"Nothing," Loki said. 

Someone tapped Moloch on the shoulder. "Sorry, but would you mind moving? The Lady and I would like to play." 

Moloch swiveled around and looked at Fate. "Fine. We were just finished anyway." 

Fate grinned. He had eyes like the universe, black nothingness with galaxies being dissolved. "Thanks." 

The four other gods moved away from the table. Any game between Fate and the Lady promised entertainment. 

The Lady and Fate were either enemies or lovers; no one could tell for sure. The Lady was a beautiful, stately woman, with pure green eyes. She was known to have a soft spot for the underdog; however, no one prayed to her. There were no temples erected to her; not even a shrine. (No official temples, anyway. People tended to worship her, especially in places like Atlantic City and Las Vegas, and now, in certain places in Detroit, without even knowing it.) The last person who prayed to her lost all of his money on black 17, had to sell his car, got mugged, and his wife ran off to be a showgirl. Then he got struck by lightning. You know who she is. 

The Lady appeared. "What is the game?" 

Fate shrugged. "What do you want to play?" 

"How about Orphans and Dark Lords?" suggested the Lady. "It's been ages since we played that last." 

Fate leaned back in his chair. "Yes, when was the last time?" 

"A long, long time ago," said the Lady, "in a galaxy far, far away." 

Fate nodded. "I see. High stakes?" 

The Lady sat down. "Always," she said. 

They studied the board. 

"How about," the Lady suggested, "a son of mages, his parents killed by the Dark Lord. Only he survived." 

"Left on the doorstep of relatives, unsympathetic to his plight, with only a scar to show the sacrifice his parents made for him," Fate added, his eyes shining. 

The Lady smiled. "Yes. And now, ten years later…" She set down the pawn with a flourish. "Your move." 

Fate pushed his piece over to the pawn. "He discovers a remnant of his true identity. A missive from a mysterious source." 

"Unfortunately," the Lady said, smoothly blocking it, "it is discovered and destroyed before he can read it." 

Fate frowned. "And so early in the game, too," he murmured. "Well then. An agent of…Fate, sent to fetch him." 

"To where?" asked the Lady. 

"To discover the truth about himself," Fate said. 

The Lady nodded. "He is discouraged by…this." She put her piece down next to the pawn. "One of your tactics, of course," she added. "Discovering that he may follow the same path as his enemy." She smiled. 

Fate studied the placement. "But his destiny is with the forces of good," he murmured. "He chooses…there." 

"But one of the people chosen to help him," said the Lady, "in fact, the very person who is teaching him to defend himself—" 

"Himself and others—" interrupted Isis. 

The Lady glared at her. "Thank you, Isis. As I was saying…That person is an agent of the Dark Lord." 

"By sheer chance, of course," Fate said. He smiled at her. 

The Lady glowered. "By sheer chance. And, _by sheer chance_, may I add, he defeats the agent of darkness." She tipped that piece over. 

Fate pushed his chair back from the table. "But that is not the end, is it?" 

"Not at all," the Lady said. "And to show my goodwill…here are my other pieces." She pushed them toward Fate. 

Fate examined them. "A bird, a map, and a sword. And a cup. My dear, are you sure about this? Because you know that I don't have to show you my pieces, if I don't want to." 

"But you will anyway," the Lady said, "because it won't make any difference. You always win Orphans and Dark Lords, anyway." 

Fate nodded. "Here. A black dog, a rat, a deer, and a snake." 

"Good choices, all of them," the Lady said. "I see now." She pushed her chair back and smiled beatifically. "The game is over." 

Fate raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? You still have a chance." 

The Lady did not respond for a few minutes. When she finally spoke, she said, "You should know what's going to happen now, my dear. It is sheer luck that he chose the right path. Sheer luck that he discovered his destiny. Sheer luck that he lived." 

Fate tipped the pawn over. "You win." Their eyes locked for a moment. 

"Look," said Moloch, "if you're done, can we use the board? Only Thor just thought up this game called Faces and Heels, and I get to be the Undertaker." 

The Lady cleared the board with one sweep of her arm. "Here," she said, and walked away. Fate followed her. 

"All right," Loki said. "Who wants to play?" 


End file.
